


Let's Get Lost

by SnowyWolff



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 80s vibe, Abusive Relationships, Addiction, Alternate Universe - Human, Drug Abuse, Falling In Love, M/M, Obsession, Unhealthy Relationships, domestic abuse, don't do drugs kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:34:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26648329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowyWolff/pseuds/SnowyWolff
Summary: But every once in a whileSomeone's passing byYou just can't get off your mindSomeone passing byGives you that precious little grainThat makes you feel realAnd keeps you out of the rain-Get Lostby Herman Brood
Relationships: Prussia/South Italy (Hetalia)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 19





	Let's Get Lost

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by “Get Lost” by Herman Brood. Really encapsulates the vibe/atmosphere I'm trying to achieve for this train wreck so if you can, have a listen  
> vaguely set in the 80s, yet it kinda isn't because I forgot mobile phones weren't really a thing yet whoops 
> 
> If you haven't done so already, do beware the tags. Heavy subject matter ahead, albeit somewhat vaguely, so if they trigger you or you're otherwise uncomfortable with the subjects, **don't read!**

~ I ~

A bustling sweaty crowd, a voice honeyed and beautiful singing dulcet melodies, a fleeting glance, too much alcohol and that same voice whispering, “Let’s get lost, baby,” deep into the night.

Gilbert wakes to cigarette smoke and a warm body.

He pushes himself up groggily, aware of the dull ache in his thighs, and glances at the man smoking in bed, whose eyes are a little distant though focusing slowly on Gilbert.

“Hi,” says the man—and Gilbert grasps at loose threads trying to attach a name to him.

“Hi.” Gilbert hesitates. “I’m sorry, but who are you?”

The man laughs, extinguishing his cigarette in the ashtray on the nightstand. “Lovino. You are?”

Gilbert takes solace in the thought it’s two-sided.

“Gilbert Beilschmidt.”

“Well then, Gilbert Beilschmidt,”—Lovino rolls him over and straddles his waist, showcasing the path of hickeys cascading down his chest—“I do believe it's my turn now.”

He leans over and kisses Gilbert, softly at first, asking for permission, and when Gilbert gives it to him, he takes it and runs with it.

~ II ~

It takes Gilbert a day to figure out why the name Lovino had bothered him so much.

It’s hard to miss the posters and the advertisements and the radio and the whole city’s obsession with him after all. Lead singer, song writer and all-around heartthrob, Lovino Vargas is anything if not extremely popular. And he had slept with Gilbert after a small performance at a gay club. No one had mentioned _that_ in the articles. 

It all feels like a distant dream as Gilbert falls back into the routine of his office job.

There is little to no chance of running into Lovino again, he knows. Yet, he cannot stop himself from going to that club every Friday night.

There’s little to no chance, but it happens anyway.

Lovino’s hand is warm in the back pocket of his trousers and he presses against Gilbert so wonderfully, fitting so perfectly, that Gilbert can’t quite help himself and kisses him.

Lovino’s laugh is bright like his eyes and the lights overhead.

“Gilbert Beilschmidt,” he says teasingly, free hand reaching up to push Gilbert’s hair behind his ear.

“Lovino Vargas,” Gilbert replies.

Lovino laughs again. “You found out.”

“You don’t try to hide it very much.”

“I suppose,”—Lovino stands on the tips of his toes to whisper in Gilbert’s ear—“I’m not much for hiding.”

Gilbert’s head is spinning as Lovino trails kisses along his jaw.

“My place or yours?” he asks breathlessly.

Lovino smiles.

~ III ~

It becomes routine, having sex with Lovino. They don’t do much else.

Gilbert wonders about it in the empty hours between work, sleep and Lovino. He thinks about Lovino all the time. He listens when his name is mentioned, when people gossip or squeal or sigh about him. He watches the TV interviews, reads the gossip magazines, follows every release.

He knows it’s obsessive, it’s worrisome, but he can’t help it. Lovino is a drug, loud and wordy and sexy and wonderful, and Gilbert doesn't want to quit.

One evening, he drops by Lovino’s apartment. It’s stylish and in the good part of town, not a penthouse suite because Lovino thinks that’s too much, but something that comes a close second.

That’s always it with Lovino. Close seconds. Never the best, but next to. Gilbert wonders if that counts for him too.

Lovino opens the door, blinks lethargically at Gilbert, cigarette between his fingers.

“Oh,” he says and frowns.

“Sorry, I, um.” Gilbert feels silly now with the way Lovino is looking at him, as if he couldn’t have picked a worse time to appear. “I thought that maybe you’d like to, uh, do something else. Like a movie or something?”

Lovino doesn’t react for a solid couple of seconds, then brings the cigarette to his lips, breathes in, then out.

“Okay.”

The apartment is a mess like always, ashtrays scattered about, the smell of smoke and something else lingering. Gilbert follows Lovino to the kitchen where he gets his trousers from the table, threads still hanging from the patch he had been sowing into the fabric.

Lovino finds sunglasses and a hat and allows Gilbert to hold his hand as they walk to the cinema. Gilbert lets Lovino pick a movie, some horror flick, and thinks about what to say.

It’s difficult, talking to Lovino. He has no problems being open about sex, but when they get to him, to getting to _know_ him, he closes off.

He becomes more talkative during the movie, whispering about how bad it is, joking with Gilbert about the stupidity of the characters, what he would have done in their stead. More talkative, then silent, then _extra_ talkative. Gilbert notices the way he fidgets when it’s quiet, when he isn’t distracted—stimulated—enough.

When the movie ends, Lovino immediately lights another cigarette outside. It smells like burning plastic.

“Are you okay?” Gilbert asks, placing a hand on Lovino’s arm.

Lovino looks at it blankly. “Yes.”

Gilbert frowns, sighs and puts his hands in his pockets.

~ IV ~

They meet more. Not only for sex now, but to hang out. Lovino doesn’t come to Gilbert often, afraid he’ll be recognized holding hands with a nobody. Gilbert knows Lovino doesn’t like the idea of people knowing he’s seeing someone as normal as Gilbert the Accountant.

They have dinner at home, listen to music at home, do everything at home. Somewhere, it becomes Gilbert’s home too.

Lovino doesn’t go out with his fellow band mates much. They bore him, they lecture him, they stifle his creative energy.

He calls Gilbert his muse, yet tells no one he exists.

“Does anyone know?” Gilbert asks one evening, exasperated.

Lovino isn’t paying attention, cigarette between his fingers, eyes on the sheet of music before him.

“Lovino,” Gilbert says, louder.

“Hm?”

Gilbert glances at him from the couch, knows he still isn’t listening. He sighs, slumping against the cushions, and stares at the ceiling. “Never mind.”

~ V ~

The first time Lovino slaps him, Gilbert doesn’t even quite realize it has happened. Lovino immediately cradles Gilbert’s face afterwards, whispering apologies.

That night as Lovino sleeps, Gilbert sits in bed and thinks.

He knows Lovino is addicted. He knows that it has become more and more difficult for Lovino to control his emotions, his thoughts, his actions. He knows Lovino didn’t mean it, but that doesn’t mean it’s okay.

The next morning, Lovino sits quietly at the breakfast table and looks at Gilbert—hasn’t stopped looking at Gilbert since he’s woken up.

“Are you going to leave?” Lovino asks.

Gilbert glances at him from the stove. He flips the bacon and says quietly, “No.”

“You should,” Lovino says.

“I know.”

“Why won't you?”

Gilbert sighs. “Because I love you.”

Lovino doesn’t say anything else for the duration of breakfast.

~ VI ~

“You have a problem,” Gilbert says as he eyes the ashtray. It hasn’t even been twenty minutes and Lovino’s lit another cigarette. Really, Gilbert shouldn’t call them that anymore, but he’ll let Lovino pretend he doesn’t know.

“I know.” Smoke swirls around Lovino like a veil. Frankly, the only time Gilbert sees him go without a smoke for longer than thirty minutes is when he’s performing on stage.

“You should get help.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

Gilbert meets Lovino’s eyes. They’re dull, tired and miss the spark that used to capture Gilbert.

“I’m not.”

“You are,” Lovino snaps. “I don’t need help.”

Gilbert catches the fist Lovino swings his way. It shakes in Gilbert’s hand and Lovino drops his cigarette, breathing just as shakily. Releasing him, Gilbert watches Lovino slump to the floor.

“Don’t you?” he asks and walks away.

~ VII ~

Everyone is worried about him. Gilbert hasn’t been keeping in touch much, but the voicemails he receives on a weekly basis are starting to become frantic.

He listens to his brother begging him to call, to Erzsébet wondering where he is, to his parents asking if he’ll come home sometime soon, even to Roderich and Sebastian asking him, for everyone’s sanity, to let people know he’s still alive and all right.

Gilbert isn’t sure if he is.

Lovino is out. Gilbert is glad he is. He’s become incredibly volatile as of late, to the point Gilbert should probably consider leaving.

He does. A lot.

~ VIII ~

Another evening. A bottle shatters against the wall.

Gilbert sits on the balcony in the rain. He considers who to call.

“Erzsi?”

“Gilbert! Oh my God!”

He can hear the noise of traffic from her end of the phone. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no! It's okay. Oh my God, you called.” She sounds frantic.

“Yeah.”

“Are you okay? Gilbert, please.”

“No. No, I’m not okay.”

“What's happened?”

Gilbert glances behind him. Lovino is smoking again. Their eyes meet, but Lovino turns away.

“A lot.”

Erzsébet is quiet for a moment. “Do I need to come get you?”

Gilbert doesn’t think. “Yes, please.”

~ IX ~

Lovino just watches as Gilbert packs a bag.

Gilbert doesn’t really care what he’s taking. Glasses, phone, pickup, everything else is replaceable.

Lovino hands him his wallet on the way out.

They stare at each other.

“I love you,” Gilbert says. “But I can’t.”

Lovino smiles. It’s soft, like it hasn’t been in years.

“Goodbye, Gilbert Beilschmidt,” he says and kisses Gilbert.

~ X ~

Gilbert, too, has a problem.

Rehab for him amounts to eating ice cream, going back to a normal day at work and regaining contact with his family and friends.

He’s staying with Erzsébet for the time being, lost in thoughts and lost in love.

He can’t listen to the radio without having some vicious relapse into wanting Lovino, in wanting to go back.

Erzsébet takes it for about a week before she drags him from the house. To the park, to the movies, to shops, on car rides, anything to stop him moping around.

He learns to move on at the same time the city learns to move on from Lovino Vargas.

~ XI ~

Gilbert returns to the clubs. He hasn’t been in forever.

The one where he met Lovino is out of business. Gilbert stands outside the door to the record shop that rents the place now.

The records of Lovino Vargas are on sale. Two for the price of one.

Gilbert returns home—he has one again—with his favourite record. The store clerk had tried to sell him another too, but Gilbert only wants the one. It’s the second album, the one Lovino wrote during what Gilbert could now honestly call their best time together. He smiles sadly; _Close Second_ encompasses their romance quite wonderfully, both in title and in sound.

His little pickup has survived everything along with Gilbert and he lies on the bed as Lovino’s voice fills the room, a voice Gilbert allows himself to drown in, if just for a moment.

The old addiction, the short euphoria of forty minutes, the ache of longing for another hit when it ends in crackle and static.

He doesn’t need it anymore, but that doesn’t mean he can’t want it sometimes.

~ XII ~

Days turn into weeks turn into months turn into years.

Lovino Vargas has vanished from the posters and the advertisements and the radio.

Last Gilbert heard he has returned home to Italy to find himself. He just hopes it means Lovino is getting help, getting better.

For him, life has settled again. His parents invite him home almost every weekend, afraid he’ll disappear again. Erzsébet still takes him places, shows up at the end of a long workday to take him out and about. His brother calls him every day, just to check in. It’s all sickeningly endearing, though terribly overbearing.

But it’s contact. It’s life. It’s moving on.

~ XIII ~

A crowd so thin that it might as well be forgotten, a voice still honeyed yet roughened from abuse singing dulcet tunes, a lasting glance, no cigarettes and that same voice whispering, “Let’s get lost, babe,” until the morning comes.

Gilbert wakes to a warm body that smells vaguely of rosemary.

Bright golden eyes regard him solemnly, so alive and worried and—

Gilbert kisses Lovino, who is no longer made of skin and bones, no longer smells of chemicals, no longer for the world to have.

Gilbert says, “Well then, Lovino Vargas,”—He rolls them over, straddling Lovino’s waist—“I do believe it’s my turn now.”

Lovino laughs, the old one, genuine and bright if a little broken, that got lost along the way.

“I’m sorry,” Lovino whispers hoarsely, over and over again as Gilbert maps a path down his chest. “I’m so, so sorry. I love you.”

Gilbert leans over and kisses him.

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes, you gotta write your faves spiralling out of control and being problematic af //shrug
> 
> This fic is also one I’m rather proud of tbh because I put a lot of thought into writing this. The parts mirror (I/XIII, II/XII, III/XI, IV/X, V/IX, VI/VIII, with VII being the turning point) as well as both Gil’s and Lovi’s addictions, both unhealthily obsessed with something, Gilbert with his love and Lovino with his drugs  
> I also want to make it very clear that this fic does not condone or romanticize either substance or domestic abuse--all I wanted was to juxtapose substance abuse with love and hopefully show that it's Not Okay (and I do hope the fic itself was clear enough on how Not Okay domestic abuse is), but that nothing's ever black-and-white either 
> 
> Anyway yeah this fic has been sitting in my drafts for over a year now bc I just wasn’t sure whether to publish it or not since it's not something I usually write and I know the gut reactions fandom often has toward these kind of fics, but oh well....... don't say you weren't warned (twice) at the start 🤷


End file.
